


The First Time I Felt My Heart

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 10:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11146257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Clarke Griffin has gotten a number of proposals in her life, and not one has made her even consider wanting to get married.Bellamy Blake's is no different.





	The First Time I Felt My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lushatrocity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lushatrocity/gifts).



> Today in "how many degrees of separation can an AU get from its inspiration," this is loosely based on the Wikipedia article about the 2015 film version of the novel Far From the Madding Crowd, which I have had no other interactions with. So make of that what you will. As always, historical accuracy is for other people. This doesn't even have historical context tbh.

Clarke Griffin's first proposal comes when she's sixteen, and it does not impress her in the least. It's only days after after they move from the city to the country, and her parents have invited some of the most respectable families in the area over so they can get acquainted. As she's making her way to her father, an older man catches her and asks, "How old are you, dear?"

"Sixteen," she says, freeing her arm with delicate care, making sure not to offend him. It's a skill she wishes women didn't have to learn at all, let alone so soon.

"A good age." He looks at his son. "This could be a wife for you, Cage. Pretty, intelligent, well-bred. Good hips, nice figure. She'd birth easily."

Clarke doesn't let her expression falter; she keeps her smile bland and detached, even as the men assess her like so much livestock, even as the younger one looks her over with haughty indifference.

"She could be," he agrees. "When would you marry, girl? This year, or not until you are older?"

"If you are waiting for my hand, you will be waiting a long time," she tells him, with a sweet smile. "I can promise you if I live to be a hundred, I'll never be your wife. If you'll excuse me."

Her parents hear about it soon enough, and while her mother sighs and asks if she couldn't have been a little more _polite_ , her father just smiles.

"Mr. Wallace told his son I'd breed well," Clarke says. "While I was standing there. I don't see why I'd be polite when he wasn't."

"Not for his sake," says Abby. "But--you don't want to get a reputation for being _difficult_."

"That seems unavoidable," says her father, and Clarke smiles at him. But he sobers too. "I'll never tell you not to speak your mind, Clarke. But that has consequences. If you tell every man who angers you what your opinion of him is--"

"Oh, I didn't tell him my opinion of him," she says, and Jake snorts.

"You may not have as many choices for marriage as you'd like," her mother interjects. "You should be careful."

"I wouldn't want to marry anyone who thought I was wrong to turn down that offer," Clarke tells her, and Abby inclines her head.

"I don't just mean this marriage, Clarke," she says, and Clarke nods.

"I understand."

It's true, it's just that she thinks she sees marriage and love fundamentally differently than her mother does. It's not that marriage sounds bad, not the kind of marriage that her parents have. A partnership with someone she's fond of.

But she knows that wasn't how her parents' marriage began. They didn't marry for anything but practicality, and it was a lucky accident that the match turned out as well as it did. They were fond enough of each other, but the arrangement was largely orchestrated by her grandparents, and they agreed because they wanted to be married.

Clarke doesn't care if she never marries, and that's the first difference between herself and her mother. Her mother believes there's no marriage that would be worse than, well, _no_ marriage, but Clarke wouldn't mind it in the least. She's looking for a compelling reason to marry. It needs to be an improvement on being alone, and with that kind of standard, she expects it will always be difficult for her.

So that's what she tells Bellamy.

He's not her second proposal, nor her third, but he's the first that her parents don't know about, and by far her most tempting. She's twenty-two and working on her aunt's farm when she meets him. Her parents opposed her leaving, of course, despaired of what it would mean for her prospects. She's sure her relocation means nothing good for her marriage, but her _prospects_ are excellent. Her aunt is getting on in years, and Clarke will likely get the farm when she grows too old to manage it. She'll have a business of her own, prospects.

Bellamy doesn't feel like a prospect. He has a small house of his own near her aunt's, with a garden and a flock of sheep, and Clarke likes him well enough. They see each other in passing, when they're both out riding, and sometimes in town, at the pub or in the market. She likes him, in the limited sense, so his proposal is a disappointment.

She tells him that first.

He gives her half a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd appreciate my getting down on one knee and waxing poetic about your eyes."

"Oh, I'd appreciate it," she teases. "It would be very amusing."

He snorts, and she _is_ glad they can be friendly about it. The proposal _was_ very friendly: he ran into her while she was out riding, they exchanged the usual polite greetings, and he asked, without any apparent change in demeanor, if she might be interested in marrying him. He's a single man and she's a good prospect; she can't hold the question against him. 

But she can't marry him either. 

"I thought you might trample me with the horse if I tried, honestly."

"And you still wanted to propose?" she asks.

He shrugs. "I'm not very good at romance. I'd probably do better with a wife who wasn't interested in it either." He clears his throat. "Not that I'm, uh--opposed, or--"

"You can stop," she says, gentle. "I'm not going to marry you."

"No?"

"I understand why you asked, but--I'm not planning to marry just to _be_ married. I know you need a wife and your prospects are limited, but--I'm not a good one."

"So what's the disappointment?"

"I like you," she says, simply. "I'd rather you didn't turn into a spurned lover."

He bites the corner of his mouth on a smile. "No, that sounds awful. I'd rather not be a spurned lover either." With a nod, he starts his horse walking again, and Clarke follows suit. "So, you won't marry me. Good to know. I won't ask again. I'd rather not disappoint you further."

"If I meet anyone I think would be a good match, I'll pass the information along to you."

"Your consideration flatters me, my lady," he says, and she's glad he's still close enough that she can elbow him.

"Shut up, Bellamy."

*

A few months later, she has reason to be grateful that the interaction was so amicable. Her aunt has a fall from her horse, decides to leave the farm to Clarke earlier than planned and retire to the seaside for the remainder of her days.

At first, Clarke does well with the work, as she expected she would. She likes the farm and the animals, likes being in charge. It's difficult, but rewarding, and she feels as if she's finally found her own place, chosen her own life. 

But it _is_ too much for just her. She has a knack for budgeting and investment, is excellent with money, a shrewd trader and dealer. All of those parts of running her own farm come easily to her, and she'd already been doing most of it for her aunt. 

What she hadn't been doing is supervising, and for that, she has no aptitude. Her aunt grew up on the farm, watching her father. She'd grown up with the men who worked for her, or men like them, and she had an easy camaraderie with them that Clarke can't replicate. With time, she knows she'll find her own dynamic with them, but she doesn't _have_ time. She needs to hire someone, someone she can trust, to supervise them.

And, as it happens, Bellamy Blake is suddenly looking for a position.

It's unfortunate for him, of course. He lost his entire flock in a horrible accident, and his flock was all he had for income. His garden is small, planted to feed himself, but not well, and he wouldn't have money to buy meat or anything else.

Even before the loss of his sheep, she'd wanted to ask him. Even without falling on bad circumstances, he's the perfect choice, but she hadn't known how to ask him, and the accident makes it harder, not easier. Bellamy is proud and stubborn, and she feels sure he'll think of it as charity, if she asks him to work for him now. 

So she waits, listens to rumors in the pub, chats with him at the market, manages her own affairs and tries to figure out how to convince him that the choice is practicality, not condescension.

But only two weeks after the loss of his sheep, she hears Miller telling Raven and Monty that Bellamy is planning to leave town, to try his fortunes elsewhere, and it feels as if the bottom drops out of her stomach.

"When?" she asks Miller.

He turns to her, frowning a little. "When what?"

"Bellamy. When is he leaving?"

"The next few days. He has to figure out what to do with the house, if someone wants it or if he should just board it up." He frowns at her. "Why?"

Clarke and Nathan Miller have never been particularly close. He's Bellamy's best friend, and Clarke has always privately suspected that he's the only person, other than Bellamy and herself, who knows about the proposal. The fact that it seems to have soured Miller on her much more than it soured Bellamy has always been vaguely endearing to Clarke; she likes people who are loyal to their friends.

"I need a foreman on the farm," she says, seeing no reason to lie. "I've been trying to figure out how to offer him the position without making him think it's charity."

"Just tell him why you need him," says Miller. "I assume you have a good reason." He pauses, clearly reluctant, and adds, "You're right, he's probably going to think it's charity, but if it's not, just tell him why it isn't. You're good at arguing with him."

Clarke feels her mouth twitch. "We don't argue _that_ much."

"You do," says Monty. "Are you sure you want him to work for you?"

Clarke and Bellamy's arguments tend to be good-natured and enjoyable, over literature or local politics or whatever else they can think of. They're both the kind of people who enjoy a spirited debate, but it's never caused any problems between them. It's one of her favorite things about him, honestly; most people back down long before he does.

"I know he'll tell me if he thinks I'm doing something wrong," she tells Monty. "And I certainly appreciate that." She raises her mug to Miller. "I'll speak to him tomorrow. Thank you."

Miller raises his own mug in return. "Best of luck. Really. I'd rather not see him go."

If she'd realized his _leaving_ was really a possibility, Clarke would have brought the whole thing up sooner. She thought he'd find a new occupation here, or start saving up what he could for a new flock. She never thought he'd pack up and go.

"Same," she tells Miller. "I'll let you know if it works."

*

Bellamy's face clouds with confusion when he finds her at his door the next morning, but he steps out of the way to let her inside without protest.

"To what do I owe the honor?" he asks.

"I need to hire a foreman," she says. "I'd like to hire you."

He crosses his arms over his chest. "Would you? Why?"

"Because I think you'd be good at it, why else would I hire you?" He opens his mouth to reply, and Clarke doesn't let him. "You have experience with farms, you're intelligent and capable. You listen to me, mostly, which not all my men do, and you'll make them listen to me. You're good with people, and I'm not." She pauses, and adds, "I wasn't sure how to ask, but apparently you're planning to _leave_ , and that seems ridiculous, when I need you."

"I can't believe I didn't think of your needs when I made my decision," he says, dry, and Clarke feels herself flush.

"I didn't mean--" She starts, and the flush deepens when he cocks his head at her. But she stands her ground, makes herself meet his eye. "I have a job for you. One I'd rather give to you than anyone else. You don't have to take it, but I assume you don't _want_ to leave your home. And I want you to stay and work for me. It seems like a good solution for both of us."

He watches her for another moment, and then he ducks his head on a soft laugh. "That was quite a speech, Clarke."

"It's true," she says. "I'm sure I could find another foreman, but as soon as I realized I needed one, I thought of you. And then your flock was lost, and--"

"You thought it was a stroke of luck?" he asks, but his voice is teasing.

"As if you couldn't have handled your own sheep and being my foreman on top of that," she says. "I'm not reveling in your misfortune, Bellamy. I'm offering you a job because I think you'd be good at it."

"And because you want me to stay."

She inclines her head. "And that, yes. I do like you."

He thinks it over, worrying his lip, and then gives her a slow nod. "When do you want me to start?"

"Are you busy now?"

He looks around his little house, and Clarke does too, for the first time. He'd started to pack up, she realizes; he really was going to _leave_. 

But he's not. He'll stay. She convinced him.

"Apparently not," he says, and gestures to the door. "After you."

*

The first week is stressful. Clarke had naively imagined that Bellamy would slot quietly into the farm, taking over where her aunt left off without any comment. If she'd thought about it for more than ten seconds, she would have realized her error, of course. Her aunt had run the farm well and without issue, and it seemed as if everything could go on as it did before, but this is _Bellamy_. Within a few days, he's already telling her worker she should let go, ways to adjust the staffing, different crops she should consider, what livestock to buy and sell.

It is, as Monty predicted, a _lot_ of yelling, first over Bellamy's changes and then, once he's convinced her his changes are a good idea, over how much they'll cost.

"If you wanted someone who'd just do whatever you told him to, you shouldn't have hired _me_ ," he finally shouts, chest heaving with annoyance, and Clarke, for some reason, finds herself starting to grin, and then to laugh.

Bellamy, for his part, looks kind of endearingly baffled by her response, watching her until he can't help twitching his mouth up into a smile of his own.

"You're right," she says, when she recovers. "I absolutely should have known this would happen."

"So you're letting me go?" he hazards, and she shakes her head.

"No. I'm going to trust you."

"Really?"

"I'm still making the purchases. I don't think you're trying to bankrupt me, which means you're trying to help me. I wanted you for this position because I thought you'd do well at it, and I _knew_ I wasn't good at this. So, yes. I'm going to trust your judgement. Tell me what you need from me, and I'll provide it."

His jaw works, like he _wants_ to argue with her, but can't figure out how to. As he shouldn't, of course--she's _agreeing_ with him. "Can I let John Murphy go?" he asks. "Immediately?"

"It's eight o'clock at night, Bellamy. Are you going to go to his house to tell him he's no longer working here?"

"I wouldn't mind," he grumbles, and Clarke smiles.

"Or you could just have a drink with me and do it in the morning."

"I've been working for you for a week and I'm already driving you to drink?"

"Think of it as a celebration," she says, finding a bottle of whiskey in her cabinet. "You've been working for me for an entire week and we haven't killed each other yet."

"Quite a milestone."

"Just sit," she says, and he does. She pours them two glasses and sits down across from him. He's a few years older than she is, and he looks tired. 

She doesn't know much about him, she realizes. Miller is his closest friend, but he's well liked, known for being dependable and even kind, for all he pretends he's not. She knows he's intelligent and trustworthy, and that he lives alone. She feels like she knows the important things about him, enough to make up her mind, but she's missing the details.

"Where would you have gone?" she asks.

"Hm?"

"You were going to leave. Where were you going to go?"

"Oh," he says. "California."

"Why California?"

He takes a sip of his whiskey. "That's where my sister is." When Clarke doesn't say anything, he adds, "She left last year. Said she wanted more adventure. I said I'd go with her, but--she didn't want me to."

"But she'd want you to come now?"

His mouth twists. "She's not here to tell me not to go."

"That doesn't seem like a very good reason."

"She's all I have," he says, like it's a simple fact. "I don't have to--I don't like being so far from her. I get letters every week or so, she could send a telegram if there was an emergency, but--I wouldn't mind being closer. If she needed me."

"She's not all you have."

He raises his eyebrows. "No?"

"Obviously I don't know much about it--"

"You couldn't tell to hear you talk about it," he teases, but his smile looks a little less strained.

"I know how you are _here_ , Bellamy. I haven't been here long, but I can see how important you are to everyone. I think Miller would have cried if you left."

"He would have," he agrees.

"You're a pillar of the community. Everyone knows if they need something, they can come to you."

He squints at her. "Did I know you liked me this much? Did you know? Is it just that you thought I was going to leave that changed your mind?"

"I've always liked you," she says.

"Good to know." After another pause, he says, "You know, I don't know much about you, either. Just that you're Miss Griffin's niece and you used to live in the city."

"Not for a few years." She shrugs. "My mother wanted to marry me off, so I found something else to do. I'm occupied and happy, so she doesn't mind."

"Getting married would have been less work," he says, voice careful.

"Not if I'd married you."

His face gives nothing away. "You think it would be hard work?" 

"I'd probably be doing this same thing if we were married," she points out. "So it would be the same amount of work. And being married to someone else would be worse."

"Would it?"

"The men who wanted to marry me, the ones my parents knew--they wanted to marry the kind of woman they thought I was. And I would have been miserable being that kind of wife, just pumping out children and being charming at events. I know it's more than that," she adds, quick. "It's difficult. But not the kind of difficult I like."

"And charming isn't exactly your strong suit," he says, and she grins.

"I can be charming."

"I'll believe it when you see it." He looks down at his glass. "Do you think you'll ever get married?"

"I don't know. Maybe if I ever find someone I like enough."

He doesn't say anything, and she feels a little guilty. It's not that she doesn't like _him_ , of course. He's probably her favorite person here, and every day she likes him more. But she couldn't marry him just to be married, and she hopes he understands that. It would be one thing, if he--if they loved each other. But he didn't want a wife interested in romance, and if she's honest, Clarke still is.

She doesn't need money, so love is it. Love is what she'd marry for.

"Good luck," he finally says, and she taps her glass against his.

"You too."

*

Finn Collins arrives in town three months after Clarke takes over the farm, and he is immediately and somewhat flatteringly interested in her.

"I don't think I've seen such fine pumpkins for sale before," is his opening line, and what it lacks in inherent charm he more than makes up for with his smile and an appreciative look that is directed entirely at her and not at all at her pumpkins. "Nor such a fine lady selling them." 

It's a little much, but Clarke finds herself smiling in spite of herself.

"That's quite a line," she says. "Did you rehearse it?"

"No, but I saw you across the market," he says. "So I had time to think it up while I made my way over. You are new in town, aren't you? Not someone I'm being horribly rude in forgetting."

"I've been here for almost eight months now," she says. "Is that new?"

"New to me. I've been out of town for a while. Just moved back."

"What were you doing out of town?"

"My father was ill. He moved for his health, I went with him. But now I'm home."

"Welcome back," says Clarke.

"Thanks." He offers his hand. "I'm Finn. What brings you to Arcadia?"

"I took over my aunt's farm. I'm Clarke Griffin."

"So I assume Miss Griffin is your aunt. Did she leave?"

"Moved for her health, like your father did."

"And you took the farm." He runs his hand over one of the pumpkins. "Looks like you're doing a good job with it."

"Me and Bellamy," she says without thinking, and he frowns. "I hired him on to help. I'm not as good with the--personnel."

"Wow," says Finn, and when she cocks her head, he smiles. "I just never thought I'd see Bellamy Blake working for someone else. He's always seemed like the independent type."

"It's not really like that. He's my partner."

It's nothing she's said before, nothing she's ever even thought in such clear terms, and it startles her because--it's true, isn't it? He _is_ her partner. She handles the finances, but that's because she's _better_ at it.

It's probably something she should formalize. Something she should--

"Clarke?" asks Finn, and she gives him a smile, her attention snapping back to him.

"Sorry, what?"

"I wanted to buy a couple of your pumpkins. And ask when I could see you again."

"You can certainly buy as many pumpkins as you like," she tells him. "And I'll be around."

*

"Finn Collins," says Bellamy.

If she's honest, Clarke was expecting the conversation. Bellamy has opinions about everything, so she doesn't see why he wouldn't have them about Finn Collins too. In fact, she was hoping for it. She _likes_ Finn, in a fairly uncomplicated way. He's attractive and charming and she enjoys spending time with him. But she's not sure yet if she's interested in anything beyond friendship, and Bellamy's feelings on the matter will go a long way in helping her decide.

"Finn Collins," she agrees. "I assume you know him. He knew you."

He frowns a little, as if he wasn't expecting the reply. "Of course I know him." 

"And?" she prompts.

That gets him back on track, and he clears his throat. He has a _speech_ prepared, she realizes. It's sweet. "When he left, he was engaged to Raven," he says. "And as far as any of us knew, he was planning to still be engaged to Raven when he got back."

Clarke feels her whole body go cold. She _knew_ Raven had a fiance, someone far away, but she'd always thought he was at school. Raven's references to him had always been easy and casual, and she'd never thought there was anything wrong.

"What happened?"

"He thought it would be _impolite_ to break it off in a letter," says Bellamy, the disgust clear in his voice. "So he kept writing to her for the year he was gone. The last letter she got, he said he couldn't wait to see her and he loved her, and then he came back and told her he thought they were different people who needed different things. And apparently what he thinks he needs is you." He shrugs. "It's your decision, obviously. The engagement is over and he's unattached. There's nothing improper about--"

"Bellamy, stop. I had no idea."

His shoulders drop, and she can see the tension leave him. "I know. I tried to get Raven to tell you, but--she said it wasn't her business what he does now." Clarke winces, and he reaches over to squeeze her arm. "You didn't know," he tells her. "I would have told you sooner, but--I didn't know you were spending time with him until recently."

"I was waiting for your commentary," she says. And then, her curiosity getting the better of her, she can't help but add, "What would you have told me if he hadn't been engaged to Raven?"

"The same thing I told Raven when she agreed to marry him," he says, gruff. "If he makes you happy, I'm happy for you, but--I think you could do better, Clarke."

"He doesn't sound like an improvement on being alone," she agrees. "Thank you. For telling me."

He still looks a little wary. "That's it?" 

"What do you mean?"

"You're just going to break it off?"

"There isn't really much to break off. I'd been seeing him sometimes. I'll probably still see him sometimes. But--he hurt Raven, and I like Raven. And he treated her poorly, and I wouldn't want to be with a man who treated me poorly. So, yes. I'm not going to encourage him." He still looks surprised, and she smiles at him, teasing. "I did tell you I'm not desperate for a marriage, Bellamy. I'm still not desperate."

"Oh." He clears his throat again. "Well, I should--I should go check on the sheep."

"You should. And if you find out I'm associating with anyone else you dislike, you should tell me that too."

"I think you can always trust me to give you my honest opinions," he says, straight-faced, and she laughs.

"I certainly can. Say hello to the sheep for me."

*

It's not something Clarke expects will come up very often. Arcadia isn't so full of potential romances that Clarke is spoiled for suitors. Monty and Miller are unattached in name only, their attachment to each other subtle enough that most people attribute it to close friendship, but Clarke has had a few such close friendships of her own with women, so the signs seemed obvious to her, and when she asked, Bellamy confirmed her suspicions. And aside from Bellamy himself, almost everyone she knows is courting, which she doesn't mind, truly. She still isn't seeking a marriage.

She does, on occasion, wonder what Bellamy is looking for in one. She wonders what led him to propose to her, if it was _all_ practicality, or if it might have been--

And then she reminds herself it doesn't matter. If he wants a wife, he'll find one. It's none of her business.

To those who care about such things, Clarke understands that the most eligible bachelor in Arcadia is Roan Winters, which Clarke can't help finding a little funny. Not that she doesn't understand it, of course--he's wealthy and decent and she supposes attractive, if one likes a somewhat rugged look. He would certainly be a prize for any young lady who was interested.

It's just that she _knows_ Roan. His parents and hers were acquainted, and they both went through similar progressions through life, starting in the city and coming out to the country when they got sick of their parents trying to tell them whom to marry and when. Her mother hoped the two of them might make a match of it someday, and Clarke can't help finding it a little ridiculous that, after so many years and miles, she's back to having well-intentioned ladies tell her that Roan is available.

"I'm so glad they can tell you that," Roan says. They met walking to town, so they're walking together. "It's such relevant information to your life."

"It could be," she says, smiling. "If I didn't remember how you used to run around with no shirt on bellowing that you were the god of ice, I might."

He pauses. "Why do you remember that and I don't?"

"You were fifteen and I believe had stolen some of your father's brandy."

"Ah. I had no idea that was the reason for your lack of interest."

"It's certainly a factor. What did you think it was?"

"I expect the announcement of your engagement to your business partner every day." He pauses. "No, that's not true. I expect the announcement that the two of you were quietly married in a private ceremony every day. You haven't been, have you?"

Clarke's mouth is suddenly dry. "Of course not. Why would I marry Bellamy?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because he doesn't love me," she says, and realizes only after that not only has she _said it_ , but she can't think of anything else.

"Ah," says Roan. "I had no idea."

He doesn't sound particularly convinced, and she doesn't know how to convince him. After all, he did propose marriage once. Even if Clarke hurt his pride, he'd probably agree if she asked him again. Even if he doesn't love her.

She could, almost certainly, marry him. She would probably even be happy. But she'd always wonder.

Roan, ignorant of her turmoil, or perhaps simply uninterested, goes on, "Since you're such an expert, what can you tell me about Raven Reyes?"

"Raven?"

"I understand she is no longer engaged."

"She's not."

He nods. "I'd like to become better acquainted with her, but I haven't found many excuses to do so. I was hoping you might be able to help."

"I'll see what I can do," she says. "I'm sure something can be arranged."

*

As focuses of her attention go, Roan's courtship of Raven is a good one. Raven is still guarded and cautious, wary of Roan in general and his romantic interest specifically, but Clarke thinks he'll be good for her, once they've gotten used to each other. Like most of her favorite people, they're good at their core, just prickly on the surface, and she thinks they'd suit each other.

Bellamy doesn't seem to agree. "Roan?" he asks her, a month or so after her conversation with Roan about Raven.

"What's wrong with Roan? And keep in mind, he's one person _I_ grew up with, not you. So I'm the expert."

"And you like him."

"I do. He's a good man. A bit stubborn and arrogant and pigheaded sometimes, but I could say the same of you. Or myself. Most people I like. And I do like him," she adds, and he nods.

"All right," he says, and it really does seem to be enough for him. It's honestly a little bit of a let down, how easily he lets the matter go. She was prepared for an extended argument.

If Finn hadn't felt like such a distant memory--separated from her by only a few months, but never so important as to take up much of her thoughts, especially after she learned about Raven--she might have realized Bellamy was trying to approach the same subject as before, that he thought Roan was courting _her_.

But it never even occurs to her, so when Roan throws a party and Bellamy doesn't want to go, she has no idea why, except that he's _Bellamy_ , and she assumes he has to act like he dislikes parties on principle. It's exactly what she'd expect of him.

"You're just going to be at home alone if you don't come," she points out. She's sitting in the yard with him, finishing off the books for the day while he checks on the new lambs. Everyone else has the afternoon off, and it's nice and companionable, her favorite kind of day.

"You make that sound like a bad thing," he grumbles. "That sounds like a huge improvement to me."

"You work too hard," she tells him, leaning her head on her arms to watch him. He's stripped down to his undershirt, and he's _very_ muscular. There isn't a better view in Arcadia than Bellamy Blake, as far as Clarke is concerned. There's certainly nothing else she'd rather look at. "You need a break."

"Being at home alone is a break." He sighs. "You really want me there?"

"Of course I do."

"Fine. But I'm not going to stay long."

"I wasn't expecting you to, no."

He looks like he wants to say something else, but he finally just sighs again, lets the lamb he was holding go and stretches. "Then I suppose I have to make myself presentable for polite company."

"Am I not polite?" she teases, and he grins.

"Not to me."

"No, not to you. Go home. I'll come get you in two hours."

"You don't have to get me."

"Why wouldn't we go over together?"

He pauses, watching her, and then shakes his head. He looks a little sad, and she can't decide why. "No reason. I'll see you in a few hours."

There aren't so many parties in Arcadia, and Clarke will admit to being excited for this one. Once every year or so is about as much as she _wants_ events like this, honestly, but once a year is nice. Roan's a good host, and everyone is in high spirits. There's good food and good music, plenty of room for dancing and everyone laughing. Raven's leg keeps her from dancing every set, but Roan's suit is going well, so he dances every few with her and then spreads his attention to the rest of the young ladies.

Everyone seems to think he'll propose tonight, and that's nice too. A wedding would be good news. It's a nice night.

Clarke manages to convince Bellamy to dance with her once, and if he seemed to be dancing with anyone else more, it might upset her, but he resists everyone else entirely, staying by the wall. He doesn't look unhappy, exactly, but--

Clarke thinks, perhaps, she should ask him how his marriage prospects are looking, these days. And if he doesn't have any, she might--well, he does _like_ her. He did want to marry her once. It could be enough for her.

It's Roan who tells her, during their fourth dance, "I believe your partner isn't enjoying himself."

"He did tell me he hated parties," Clarke says, looking for Bellamy automatically, but unable to spy him from her current position. "But I thought he'd at least enjoy standing in the corner and grumbling with Miller."

"He might have," Roan grants. "But I told him I was proposing tonight."

She frowns. "You think he's upset you're proposing?"

"I have no doubt." He pauses, leans in close, to whisper in her ear, and she only realizes how intimate it looks when he murmurs, "I may have let him believe I was proposing to _you_."

She jerks back. "What?"

His shrug is fluid, easy, and doesn't break the rhythm of their dance, somehow. He is good at this. "I never told him as much. But when he assumed, I did not correct his assumption."

"What about Raven?" she demands, and for the first time, his smug expression falters, not quite guilty, but a little sheepish.

"I did tell her. She didn't seem to mind. I believe she considered it a public service."

"A public--"

"He left," says Roan, finding, at last, the spot where Bellamy was. "You really had no idea."

It feels foolish to say that she didn't, given he proposed to her last year. At the time, it had seemed simple. He'd asked her so casually, without romance or ceremony, as if he was asking her after the health of one of her sheep. When she turned him down, he'd been easy, normal. A little self-deprecating, but that's how he is.

He'd been so like himself that she never questioned it, not even when she got to know him better. 

"No," she admits, and feels like the world's biggest idiot. "Somehow I didn't. I should--"

"You should," Roan agrees, and lets her go. "I'd say you can tell him I'm sorry for misleading him, but I'd say he should be thanking me."

It's a point Clarke can't argue, and has no interest in arguing, anyway. Roan did try to tell her, and she didn't listen. Bellamy _asked her to marry him_ , and she didn't realize.

It's her own fault, and she'd much rather fix it than talk to Roan.

"I'll be sure to let him know what happened," she says. "Good luck with the engagement."

Since her view of Bellamy was obstructed during the dance, Clarke still can't be sure when, exactly, he left. His legs are longer than hers, and her skirts aren't made for speed, so even without much of a head start, she knows he'd outpace her quickly. 

She might spot him on the way back, but even if she doesn't, she knows where he's going.

As she walks, she tries not to let her hopes run away with her. But she'd taken it for granted, that Bellamy _didn't_ care about this. That he'd wanted to marry, and she'd been his most logical choice. And of course he'd let her think that; he'd much prefer it to letting her think he was upset or heartbroken. She _told him_ she didn't want a better proposal, or a scorned lover.

She's been so _stupid_. 

There's no light in Bellamy's window when she spies his house, but she sees a candle flicker on only a few seconds later. He wasn't _so_ far ahead of her. And he did go home.

His door is unlocked, so she opens it, and he jerks up from--

"Are you packing?" she asks.

"You and Roan can handle the farm," he says. "So I can go to California and--"

"Bellamy."

For a second, it looks like he's going to ignore her and keep going, but then he stops, crosses his arms over his chest. He's still dressed in his suit, and Clarke's heart twists at the thought that he did this, that he dressed up and came with her, that he thought he was joining her for her _engagement party_. 

Just because she wanted him to.

"Roan is proposing to Raven," she says, and for a second his face doesn't give anything away.

Then he wilts, shoulders sagging, confusion settling over his features. "Raven," he repeats.

"I thought you knew," she says. "I didn't know you--"

"It doesn't matter." He turns his attention back to his suitcase. "You can hire Miller for a foreman, he'll do just as well as I do, and probably be less trouble."

"I don't want Miller."

That gets him up again, mouth hard, shoulders squared. "I'm getting tired of living my life based on what _you_ want, Clarke."

Her own temper flares. "You never told me what you wanted!" 

His jaw works, and then he's advancing on her, jaw set, shoulders squared. "You're right. I fucking wish I had, okay? I wish I'd gotten down on one knee and--"

He's close enough that Clarke can seize his lapels and pull him in, dragging his mouth to hers. For a second, he's frozen, and her heart stutters, all her confidence chased out by the fear that she somehow misunderstood, that they were somehow talking about two different things.

But then he comes to life, his hands seizing her hips, pulling her in, his mouth opening on a groan and claiming hers, hot and hungry. It's not Clarke's first kiss, not even her first time kissing a man, but it's her first time being kissed like _this_ , as if a dam is breaking, as if he's been waiting forever.

She slides her hands from his chest to around his neck so she can press in closer, and he groans again, fingers dancing up her sides, over the laces of her dress. She's the one to reach down to tug one, undoing the knot, and it makes him _laugh_ , of all things, pulling back to look at her.

"Clarke," he says, and he can't have looked at her like this before. She would have known, if he had.

"I thought you wanted a wife," she tells him.

"I did. I do, more every day." He brushes his nose against hers. "I want _you_."

"You could have just _said that_ ," she says, and his smile turns a little bashful.

"I told you I wouldn't ask you to marry me again."

He did, and she'd forgotten. But of course _he_ didn't. So it's possible they're both idiots.

"Bellamy," she says.

He presses his mouth under her jaw, making her shudder. "Clarke."

"Will you marry me?" she asks, and he pulls back at that, as if the question is somehow a _surprise_ , even now. She tangles her hand in his hair, smiling up at him, and his own grin breaks out. He looks like a boy, carefree and joyful; Clarke's never seen anything better.

"You're not going to get down on one knee?" he teases. 

"Is this not romantic enough for you?" 

His mouth is warm on hers again, his kiss long and deep, more love than passion, and she melts into him.

"It's perfect," he murmurs. "Besides, I don't think you need any more proposals."

"No," she agrees. "This can be the last one."


End file.
